that thought long. It had never mattered. It especially couldn’t matter this time—his last time.
Maybe that was what had him on edge. He’d decided that this one would be it. With the money added to what he’d saved from the other hits, he could retire at forty-five. That had always been his goal. Another reason he’d taken this job. It would be over quickly. By his birthday he would be home free. He saw that as a sign, since this would be his last job.
Encouraged, he took the data over to the fireplace and lit it with a match. He would already be in Montana, waiting for a sign, by the time Dee Anna Justice arrived.
* * *
DJ LEANED BACK into the first-class seat, wishing she could sleep on the airplane. Her mind had been reeling since finding the doll and the photograph. But now, to discover after all these years that she had family, a cousin...
She’d been shocked and wary when she’d gotten the message on her voice mail. “Hi, my name’s Dana Cardwell Savage. I’m your cousin. I live in Montana, where your father was born. I’d really love to talk to you. In fact, I want to invite you to the Cardwell Ranch here at Big Sky for the holidays.”
Instantly she’d known this call had been her father’s doing. But how had he gotten her cell phone number? She mentally smacked herself on the forehead as she recalled the guard at the prison searching her purse. The only thing he’d taken was her cell phone, saying she could pick it up on the way out. She should have known her father had friends in prison.
She’d thought about ignoring the message. What if this was just some made-up relative? She wouldn’t have put it past her father.
But the voice had sounded...sincere. If this Dana Cardwell Savage really was her cousin...would she be able to fill in the gaps about her father’s family? What about her mother’s family? Wasn’t there a chance she might know something about the doll and photograph?
She’d always had the feeling there was some secret her father had been keeping from her. If Dana Savage had the answer...
After doing some checking, first to verify that Walter William Justice had been born in Montana near Big Sky and then to see if there really was a Cardwell Ranch and a Dana Cardwell Savage, DJ had finally called her back.
A few minutes on the phone and she’d agreed to fly out. “I can’t stay for the holidays, but thank you for asking. I would like to meet you, though. I have to ask. What makes you so sure we’re cousins?”
Dana explained about discovering an uncle she hadn’t known existed until she’d found some old letters from him to her grandparents on her mother’s side. “There’d been a falling-out. I hate to say this, but they’d disowned him. That’s why I’d never heard of your father until a few years ago, when I found the letters.”
His family had disowned him? Was it that simple, why she’d never known about them? “Do you still have those letters?”
“I do.”
She had felt her heart soar. Something of substance she could use to find out the truth. She wanted answers so badly. “I’ve never known anything about my father’s family—or my mother’s, for that matter, so I’d love to learn more.”
“Family is so important. I’m delighted that your father called. I’d heard he had died. I’m so glad that wasn’t true.”
Little involving her father was the truth, DJ thought. But if his family had disowned him, then maybe that explained why he’d kept them from her. She had a cousin. How many more relatives did she have that he hadn’t told her about?
She tried to relax. Her cousin was picking her up at the airport and taking her to the family ranch where her father had been born. These people were his family, her family, people she’d never known had existed until recently. She wanted to pinch herself.
Pulling her purse from under the seat in front of her, she peered in at the rag doll. If only it could talk. Still, looking into its sweet face made her smile in spite of herself. It wasn’t hers, but it was so much like hers...
She thought of Trixie and remembered leaving a motel room in the middle of the night and not realizing until later that the doll wasn’t with her.
“You must have dropped her,” her father had said as they sped out of town.
“We have to go back,” she’d cried. “We can’t leave her.”
He’d looked over at her. “We can’t, sweetie. If I go back there... We can’t. I’ll get you another doll.”
She hadn’t wanted another doll and had cried herself to sleep night after night until she had no more tears.
“It was just a stupid doll,” her father had finally snapped.
“It was all I ever had that was mine.”
Now, as she looked at the doll resting in her shoulder bag, she wondered where it had been. Had another girl had this doll as she suspected? But how would that girl know about DJ and Trixie? Trixie was lost, while this doll had been well cared for all these years. Why part with it now?
Her head ached with all the questions and a nagging sense of dread that she wasn’t going to like what she found out.
It made no sense that people had given her this doll and the photograph unless they wanted her to find out the truth. But the way they’d left it, breaking into her apartment...
She had tucked the photo into a side pocket of her purse and now withdrew it to study the two women, the one man and the baby in the shot. The man and women were looking at the camera, standing next to a stroller. There was nothing in the background other than an unfamiliar stone wall to give her any idea of where it had been shot—or when.
With a start, she saw something in the photo that she hadn’t noticed before. She’d always looked at the people in the photo, especially the woman holding the baby.
But now she saw something in the stroller that made her heart pound. A doll. The doll she now had tucked in her purse. Her father hadn’t lied. She wasn’t this baby, because it wasn’t her doll in the stroller. But who was the baby, if not her?
It had snowed last night, dumping another six inches. Fortunately Highway 191 through the Gallatin Canyon had already been plowed by the time Beau dug himself out and drove to his office on the second floor of an old brick building in downtown Bozeman.
“Good morning, boss,” Marge said from behind her desk as he came in. Pushing sixty, solid as a brick wall and just as stout, Marge Cooke was as much a part of Tanner Investigations as the furniture.
“I’m on my way to the airport soon,” he said, taking the mail and messages she handed him. “I’ll probably be out of contact for a few days,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for his office. He heard her get up and follow him.
As he sat down behind his desk, he looked up to find her framed in the doorway. She lifted one dark penciled-in eyebrow and asked, “Since you never take any time off and I know you aren’t busy decorating for Christmas, I’ll assume you’re working. You
